


That Rib's Broken

by incurableinsanity



Category: Leverage
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe, Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, Fluff, Humor, M/M, Swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-12
Updated: 2014-08-12
Packaged: 2018-02-12 21:34:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,206
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2125434
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/incurableinsanity/pseuds/incurableinsanity
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Had Eliot never left Damien Moreau's side, Quinn became the one involved in a series of events to become part of the Leverage team. Quinn's past with Eliot, his getting used to the team, and facing his involvement with Eliot to take down Moreau are only parts of the mess that Quinn called his life. Thankfully, it all works out eventually.</p>
            </blockquote>





	That Rib's Broken

**Author's Note:**

> Don't know if this was ever done, but why the hell not, right? Some direct quotes from the episodes, but I've changed some of Eliot's to sound more like Quinn. This story contains both scenes from episodes/jobs and original scenes that I've written in.

Quinn first met Eliot Spencer several years before getting an offer that would later change his life. His job had been to retrieve a certain package for his client that was left in the hands of some Russian mobsters that decided to back out of the deal and keep the package for themselves.

The client told Quinn that the package was of utmost importance to something (Quinn stopped listening after the third sentence of the explanation). So, to Russia Quinn went.

Only to find himself zip-tied to a chair while the Russians asked where the package was. He might have had a concussion and some cracked ribs at that point.

He was in the middle of speaking (" _Seriously, you guys don't have the package? What do you mean it was **stolen**?_ ") when one American kicked in the door asking where the fuck the package was. Two seconds passed in pregnant silence before Quinn snapped his restraints and proceeded in helping the American bust heads. Until they turned on each other that is.

"Where's the goddamn package?" The American growled in what sounded like a Southern accent, blocking Quinn's punch.

"The fuck should I know?" Quinn ducked and kicked the American in the ribs, multiple times, until he hoped they broke. "It was supposed to be here!"

The American recovered, sending Quinn to the hard ground and pinning him. Quinn struggled before realizing this guy out-classed him. Well shit. He wasn't hoping to die here today for some shitty ass package that had god knows what in it, but apparently he was. The American had the handgun aimed at his face before the realization even finished.

"Where is the package?"

"I heard it was here last, before it got _stolen_ , apparently." Quinn huffed. He could of course, refuse to answer, but that meant a more painful death and he wasn't entirely sure he was ready to get through that yet. Besides, the guy's finger wasn't even on the trigger.

"Stolen? It was stolen from Russians?" The American repeated incredulously. "Fuck!"

"Probably the North Koreans."

"Well that's even better." The American stood, stepping back but not letting the gun down.

"My client can go piss in a hole, no way I'm going for that now," Quinn slowly sat up, wary. The American growled again, and stalked out of the room. When Quinn finally left the place (not before bashing in a couple more heads because he couldn't let them walk away _unhurt_ , right?), the American was nowhere in sight.

And that was the first time Quinn met Eliot.

 

 

 

 

 

The second time was seven months later. He had been acquiring some merchandise in Serbia when out-the-fuck nowhere came the American beating the crap out of him.

"You know, we shouldn't keep meeting like this," Quinn quipped just before he was tackled to the ground.

He fought valiantly.

Three of his ribs were broken and he was pretty sure he got shot in the shoulder.

The American had one broken rib and a bruise on his jaw.

Quinn was left gasping on the floor when who obviously must have been the American's client (and, of course, Quinn's target) strolled into the room.

" _Excellent work_ ," the dark-haired man greeted in his native language, " _Make sure to secure him so we can figure out who hired him._ "

The American glared at Quinn (who was deeply offended, by the way; it's not like he knew the guy would be here, _honest, mister_ ), grumbled, and began to lead the brunet away from the scene. Once they turned a corner, however, the American let him go.

"You still breathin'?" He asked.

"My ribs are broken, and I'm bleeding from the shoulder. What do you think?" Quinn scowled, inwardly confused at the change of actions.

"Listen," The American continued, not at all caring about his woes, "I'm about to 'take care' of my client. Want in?"

"...What?"

"This guy's about to double cross me and get me killed so I'm going to turn it around."

Well that's... "What terms did you have in mind?"

"Help me and maybe I'll let you live."

"Wow, you sure know how to persuade a guy," Quinn rolled his eyes. "Sure, fine. Got a name, then, if we're gonna be working together here?"

"Eliot Spencer."

"Quinn."

Quinn had to admit they made a nice team. Kicking that guy's ass was certainly fun. And if Eliot helped out when Quinn's client tried to pull the same thing, well, Quinn knew at least Eliot was going to let him live the whole time.

 

 

 

 

 

After that, Quinn almost had a "partnership" with Eliot: doing a few jobs, meeting up, etc. But the last time he would see the guy for a long time was right after he learned Eliot had once been in the Black Ops. They had just finished a job in Uruguay (Quinn would not forget how fucking insane it was for Eliot to kill the Death Squad with a goddamn piano wire) and were patching up minor injuries in a small abandoned home in central nowhere.

"They tried to kill me." Eliot stated, almost casually. "My squad knew too much. So they wiped us from the system, pretended we died on some mission that turned out to be a trap to kill us, and moved on."

"But you lived," Quinn frowned.

Eliot shrugged, ignored the statement, "It's what happens when you do wet work. Eventually they come to kill you. You make a promise to the US government, but when it comes down to it, you're just as expendable as a bullet."

"Sounds like they don't want to own up to the shit they pull."

"Of course not," Eliot rolled his eyes, irritated. "Listen, I'm going to Belgrade in Serbia for some kind of client meeting or something. Want to come along?"

It was the first time Quinn had ever been invited (he usually did the inviting just because it was fun to watch Eliot kick ass and take names), but-

"Can't. Some guy wants me to retrieve this statue and remove the owner. I'm off to Turkey for the next few weeks. Maybe we'll meet up for the next job."

"Yeah."

The next time Quinn heard of Eliot Spencer, it was as Damien Moreau's chief enforcer and right hand man. He didn't try to contact him again.

In any case...Croatia could use a good liberation.

 

 

 

 

 

Working with a team of strangers was absolutely stupid, Quinn decided years later. Why he let this Dubenich guy talk him into this was unknown, but he believed the money had something to do with it ("What terms did you have in mind?" He had asked and received a slip of paper with a satisfying amount of numbers on it).

He was regretting it. The hacker was some kid with a smart mouth and the thief was insane. Parker, that was her name, was a regular thief legend even in his world because she could be crazier than some of the hitters that he's known. Nathan Ford was an honest man and that was just plain weird.

Though, he had to admit that the honest man was the only other reason he was doing this. It was someone to trust (and ain't _that_ an odd word to use?), he supposed, to make sure he got paid.

"I don't even know what you do," was the hacker's response when Quinn (so generously) complimented that he wasn't as useless as he looked.

Well that was a little offensive.

Quinn could kill this nerd in under five seconds with the ear bud he was just given. He hated this job already.

"Can I have one?" Parker asked, dangling upside.

"You can have the whole box," The hacker (Har- Harry? Ha- Harold...Something with an H.) said to her.

"What are you gonna do when she finds out you live with your mom?" Quinn snorted, ignoring the response he was given.

"The last time I used this rig, Paris 2003." Parker smiled, but all Quinn did was look at the hacker (Hamal...? ...No).

"Is this thing safe?"

"Mostly..." The hacker (Hale? Hal?) stated right before he went on a tangent of possible side effects.

"You're precisely why I work alone." Quinn shook his head. Nathan said something about going on his count, so Quinn assured him they knew how to do their jobs (or at least, he did), but in the middle of the count, Parker went on her own. "That's an unhealthy amount of crazy right there." He couldn't help but say.

 

 

 

 

 

The job had been easy. He even got to show that kid hacker (...Hayley?) what exactly he did for a living. It was great.

Right up until he found out he wasn't getting paid.

This job was supposed to be a walk-away goddammit. He shouldn't have to deal with all these lunatics again, but here he was, standing in a warehouse while the hacker (Hanson?) pointed a gun at his face.

He thought about breaking his fingers to make a point, but the safety was on. Even if it wasn't, some snot-nosed idiot who probably never held a gun before was no threat to him. Then Nathan Ford, in all his honest man glory, showed up.

"You seem pretty relaxed for a guy with a gun pointed at him."

"Safety's on."

"Like I'ma fall for that." The hacker (...Harlan?) frowned.

"No he's right." Nathan pulled the gun away, then turned to Quinn. "You armed?"

"No sir," He shrugged, "Not a gun fan." Not since...well...another time for those thoughts.

Which was good, since Parker showed up, gun in hand (Did she even know how to use one? Seriously? Where are they finding these things? Are they selling them in quarter machines now?).

 

 

 

 

 

It wasn't fun finding out they were all going to be killed in that explosion. Dubenich was a sneaky bastard, Quinn had to give him that.

It was even less fun getting dragged to the hospital and being cuffed to a chair while he waited for the honest man to wake up. The hacker (Henry...Hayden...Harper...?) and Parker were in the room next to them.

Nathan jerked awake, looking at the surroundings and his handcuffs.

"Not a fan of hospitals?" Quinn couldn't help but greet in his cheerful, sarcastic manner.

"...Not much." Nathan said, and the brunet watched as he processed the situation.

"It's about time," Parker said from the vent. Stupid thief probably had her cuffs off already. "Cops and firemen got there just as we were waking up."

"Where are we?"

"County hospital. Local cops responded to the explosion." The hacker (Harvey...Harrison...Harrison sounded close...) explained.

"Have we been processed?" Nathan turned to him. Quinn waved his ink-covered fingers back.

"Faxed them to the state police."

"Yo, if the state runs us, man, we're screwed." The hacker (Hardison! Hardison was his name. Last name. Finally...) stated, quite obviously.

"How long?" asked Parker.

"30-35 minutes, depending on the software."

"They printed us 20 minutes ago," Quinn frowned slightly. This sucked. "Unless we get out of here in the next ten minutes, we are all going to jail, honest man included."

Nathan shook his head. Quinn felt the need to add, "I can take these guys if you want."

"Don't you dare. You kill anybody, you screw up my getaway!" Parker objected. As if he cared about her getaway. Hardison ( _ha_!) objected that he couldn't even use the bathroom.

"Parker, get me a phone! What we're gonna do is we are going to get out of here together." Nathan decided.

"This was a one time thing, man," Quinn objected. The more idiots he left to take the fall when he took out the cops, the better.

"Hey guys. Here's the problem. You all know what you can do. I know what all you can do. So, that gives me the edge. That gives me the plan."

"I don't trust these guys," Parker cut in. _Feeling's mutual_ , Quinn thought.

"Do you trust me?"

"...Of course we do." He gave Nate a smile, "You're an honest man."

"...Parker, phone."

Parker sighed, "This is gonna suck."

 

 

 

 

 

Quinn wanted to take Dubenich down. Kick his ass so bad, and if he was feeling merciful, kill him (Who cares if Dubenich knew his face? All it'd take is one dark alley on the guy's way home). But, Nate wanted everyone to take him down, even though the rest of them were planning to leave. He agreed, if only for the payback. And he still wanted to get paid. And he thought it was kind of fucked up when he heard Dubenich used Nathan's son against him.

But it was not worth listening to this actress butcher his ear drums for life. Christ, he wanted to kill himself. He would rather play Russian Roulette than listen to this! Maybe go back to North Korea (...okay, no, nothing was worse than North Korean prison, but still...)!

"This is not her stage," Nathan assured when they all expressed how much she sucked. So they met her outside, but Quinn still felt like this was a terrible idea. Nathan had trust in this woman's abilities? Was he the one hurt in the head? For heaven's sake, if this woman was some kind of sane, then he had to be Ghandi himself.

"No, no, just no."

"Parker's right. Dubenich knows us. And we need a fresh face," Nathan told him right before going off to talk to this actress. He recruited her, and she seemed happy to help.

And thus, Sophie Devereaux joined their little misfit club to take down Dubenich.

_Fantastic._

 

 

 

 

 

Finally, when it was all said and done, Quinn breathed a sigh of satisfaction. Dubenich was taken out and it was great.

The check with a staggering amount of money on it was also great.

He could up and leave with the job with this amount of cash. No more retrievals, no more K&R, no more anything. Retirement that was unheard of in his profession.

Yet, somehow it seemed wrong. So after he walked away, and went to catch up with Nathan, he heard Hardison and Parker already making arguments to work again. Together (which was still weird, by the way).

He graciously added in his input, "You know what I think?"

"No." Nathan - Nate was the shorter version right? Less of a mouthful - Nate stated, likely adamant that this was a one-time thing.

"I think you'll crash again before long. You need some kind of chase or you'll end up right back where you were."

"I'll manage," Nate shook his words off before his phone rang.

Sophie talked to him, and got him on board. Black King, White Knight or something.

Who cared, Quinn thought, this was so much more interesting than anything else. Bad guys _did_ have money...

The terms were acceptable.

 

 

 

 

 

The Butcher of Kiev was one scary motherfucker.

Quinn really did not need to fight that guy ever. This job was so not worth that kind of fight.

"Think he'll recognize you?" Nate asked of him when they found this out.

"Uhh-"

_Eliot grappled with the Butcher while Quinn took down some of his associates. By the time he looked back, Eliot had hit the Butcher with a burning plank. The Butcher stumbled back, shouting "it burns!" Eliot punched him down for good measure, knocking him unconscious.  
_

_"Damn," Quinn whistled. "Wasn't that a close one, old man?"_

_"Seriously? I'm not even that much older than you," Eliot rolled his eyes, "Let's get out of here already." A burning plank fell between them._

_"Agreed."_

"Maybe?" He shrugged. Nate threw his arms up and asked how Hardison managed to miss this, but as always, it was the FBI's fault. Sometimes, they were as thorough as a raccoon going through garbage and other times they were as blind as bats.

"Okay so we have a world-class killer who may or may not identify Quinn and we aren't prepared for this. So I am pulling the plug on this one. I want everyone to meet me at the van in two minutes."

"...I'm staying," Sophie said, which was just great. She wanted to help her friend, and Quinn believed she was going to do it whether or not they left. Which, of course, was freaking fantastic as always. Why couldn't he have a team that wasn't completely insane? It was times like these that he wondered why he even bothered to stay with them in the first place...

"Sophie, Hardison, Parker, find the money. Quinn, stay away from the butcher. Uh, me, I have a wedding to officiate." Quinn blatantly showed his irritation at this on his face, but went back to the kitchen nonetheless.

 

 

 

 

 

Fighting the Butcher was not a fun experience. No wonder Eliot had some trouble those years back. But, he still won, so it wasn't _too_ bad.

"You just kill a guy with an appetizer?" Nate stared at him with an odd look on his face.

"Maybe? I think he's still breathing." Quinn shrugged, short of breath. It's not like it would have been the strangest thing he's seen done in a kitchen.

_"Hold a knife like this to cut through an onion," Eliot explained._

_"Where'd you learn all this?" Quinn had to wonder, as they sat in some kitchen in a closed restaurant in Tokyo._

_"Met this guy Toby a little while ago. He taught me how to cook."_

_"Passing it on to me then, Master Chef?" Quinn laughed when Eliot shot him a look._

_"I'm already cooking for you, you might as well learn. Can't keep living on takeout."_

_"Takeout is good for people on the run, like myself." He grinned. Eliot shook his head, the beginnings of a smile showing on his face. "Continue, O' Great Master."_

_"Hold a knife like this, cut through an onion," Eliot explained again, just as eight yakuza busted in the door, looking for them. The_ chef _switched his grip. "Hold a knife like this, and cut through, like, 8 yakuza in 4 seconds," He said as he proceeded to do so._

Quinn shook his head subtly. Too many flashbacks for today. He glanced up in time to catch the keys Nate tossed at him.

"Put it in the trunk."

"This car?" He asked, looking at the bag of money.

"Do it." He huffed in annoyance and left.

 

 

 

 

 

_"Am I using an onion-grip or a yakuza-grip?" Quinn said, holding up a knife._

_"Quinn," Eliot growled, though the heat wasn't in it._

_"I got it, onion-killing-yakua grip then." He couldn't help but grin wider. "I bet it's a very distinctive grip."  
_

_"Why did I think this was a good idea?" Eliot rolled his eyes._

_"'Cause apparently you care about what I eat."_

_"The crap you eat is unhealthy, no ifs, ands, or buts about it." Eliot turned to stalk away._

_"Hey, hey, I appreciate it," Quinn turned him around. Subtly softer he added, "Onion-grip, right? Show me how to do it again."_

_Eliot wasn't fooled, but he stood next to Quinn and showed him how to do it again._

Quinn pinched the bridge of his nose. Three flashbacks too many right now. He hadn't cooked since...well...

He hadn't cooked in a long time, and doing this job at the wedding brought him back to it. At least he was alone in the restaurant kitchen, waiting for the last things to finish. He heard the commotion in the dining area, just as he plated and carefully balanced the food on his arms.

"Hey, hey, make some space; I got hot food here." He smirked as he put the things down and took a seat. Right after they made a toast, Quinn raised an eyebrow when Hardison took a bite and exclaimed,

"Hey man, this is really good."

The brunet couldn't help but reply, "I learned from the best."

 

 

 

 

 

Quinn was beginning to think that Nate had a death wish. Besides all the drinking (which, really, was stupid; no amount of alcohol can fix a problem like that, but then again, it's none of his business), Nate really wanted to take down Blackpoole. The CEO of I.Y.S. Insurance.

(Then Quinn must have secretly had a death wish because he accidentally seduced Nate's ex-wife.)

"Of all the women to flirt with, you chose Maggie?" Nate threw his hands in the air.

"How was I supposed to know that was your ex-wife?" Quinn retaliated, "It's not like I was thinking 'oh hey, there's Nate's ex-wife Maggie, who goes by her maiden name Collins. I should go flirt with her to screw over our entire plan!'" (And he could have flirted with the guys, but that was less likely to actually work damn it!)

Nate groaned while Quinn glared at Parker and Hardison, who thought they were sneaky with their amused smiles.

"I'm sorry your wife gave me her phone number, okay?"

 

 

 

 

 

It was all going so well. Maggie verified the art (the actual First David posing as the Second) as real, Blackpoole bought it, and Hardison was on the way back to the offices with the cash.

But then Quinn discovered the idiot taking pictures of them. It's not like any of their cons could ever go as smoothly as hoped.

"You've got less than three seconds," He greeted, then ducked under the kick thrown in his direction. The idiot threw a punch right as Quinn side-stepped, and managed to catch him in the jaw, and sending him sprawling to the ground. "Nate, we're blown!" He shouted, only to see the ear piece several meters away. "Shit," He mumbled, rolling away from the next hit aimed at his ribs and into a standing position.

"Well, looks like I've managed to catch the infamous Mr. Quinn off guard," The idiot grinned.

"Chapman?" For real? This idiot was the one attacking _him?_ "They hired you?"

"With the top two dogs no longer freelancing, I became number one, you know," Chapman shrugged with a stupid smirk.

"So you're not even first runner-up, but second? That must hurt inside."

"You know, you and that idiot Spencer were always ruining everything. Taking all the good clients for yourselves," Chapman lunged at him, to which Quinn ducked and hit the solar plexus. He followed up with a throw and shot his leg into Chapman's ribs.

"That's because they wanted people who could fight," He smiled cheerfully, taking pleasure in the way the other growled in disdain. He did not expect the hit that brought him to the floor several seconds later.

Well, this could be interesting...

Several minutes later, Quinn sported a nice concussion, a likely dislocated shoulder, and some cracked ribs. Chapman was out cold with broken ribs and a concussion, so he was the better contender here. He paced the few steps to the ear bud and shoved back into his ear.

"Nate, we're blown. We're blown," He breathed.

" _Quinn, w_ _hat's going on? Talk to me, Quinn_."

" _Hello, Nate... I love this technology._ "

A pause. " _What do you want, Sterling?_ "

Ah, so this was the infamous James Sterling of I.Y.S. Insurance. Swell. Could this job get any better?

" _First, let's see how many birds we have in hand. You know this is Parker's. Now, Alec Hardison?_ "

" _Accounted for, Mr. Sterling. And, we have the cash, too._ " An unfamiliar voice answered. Of course it just got worse.

" _Marvelous. Mr. Quinn?_ "

Making his way towards the exit, Quinn growled, "Hey, Sterling, I have some dental work with your name on it. Why don't you and me hook up so I can give it to you?"

" _...It seems Mr. Chapman was not as effective as promised. Still, two birds in the hand are worth three in the bush._ "

" _Quinn, stay low. Sterling, what do you want?_ " Nate interrupted.

Quinn ignored Sterling's following statements.

 

 

 

 

 

Stepping inside Leverage Consulting & Associates offices, Quinn made his way to where Nate and Hardison were held. He would have to hope things went well with Sophie and Parker (if Sophie didn't do her part after all the shit she went through to con them...she better run far).

"Four guys?" He observed. Two sets of steps behind him... "Six guys?"

"See, he's good, but he's not that good," Geary stated smugly.

"Some cracked ribs, a concussion, and dislocated shoulder...I don't think Quinn can take out six guys," Nate agreed. Quinn tilted his head, eyes narrowing at Geary. He could kill that man six ways to Sunday with one functioning limb. "But then I thought, what would Hardison do?"

Hardison, for his part, looked confused. So Quinn took out the cell phone, and screwed with headset frequency on the Sterling's idiots. Knocking them out after that was entirely easy. He exchanged gestures with the other two, and while Nate spoke with Sterling, Quinn manhandled Sterling's men into position.

"Nate, we're done here. Hardison," He called, heading for the door after Nate.

"Wait, Quinn. Quinn, come on." Hardison beckoned him back, and Quinn growled.

"Seriously?"

"Bring it." Hardison replied, and Quinn helped him lift the painting of the weird old guy on the wall.

"This is plain creepy."

"I painted this."

It was a shame that the office was blown to bits. It was a pain in the ass to have to scatter.

 

 

 

 

 

Quinn wasn't entirely sure what made him go to the museum three months later to case it. Yeah, they were supposed to be scattered for longer. But for some reason, Quinn couldn't let the case go. He just really, really wanted Sterling's head on a platter, he supposed. Going through Blackpoole was just an opportunity.

Like everything else in his life since that job for Dubenich turned against him, it did not go as planned. Every one of them was there.

Arriving at Hardison's idea of a lay-lowing safe house was just plain ridiculous (A mansion? This was laying low?). He shot dirty looks at Sophie, who looked surprised, and that only served to piss him off further. Conning your own crew was a bunch of bullshit, and he didn't want to work with someone like that.

"Why'd you come back?" Nate's question caught all of their attention from the museum security. "We agreed to scatter for six months. All of you, all of you, made an amateur move being there."

"It's too hard to leave a job undone. It's like an itch," Parker replied.

"I put a lot of work into us. Into that office; it was like my second home. I blew up my second home," Hardison frowned.

"As annoying as you people can be," Quinn shrugged, "I quit this crew when I decide to. No one forces me to." And that, that was true. He may not be happy with them right now (well, mainly Sophie), but he wouldn't quit until he decided to. Just because Sterling got the drop on them meant nothing. He'd leave when he was good and ready to.

"I just, I really wanted to hurt Sterling," Sophie said, and as pissed as he was at her, Quinn was inclined to agree. Hurting Sterling would be so much better than anything else right now.

"Well, he's taken over security for the gallery. If we work together - If we work together, we can kill two birds with one stone. Break Blackpoole, and humiliate Sterling." Nate shrugged.

Hardison had to input, "No, no, Sterling, he knows our game, man. Okay? It's going to be twice as hard to steal those statues."

So, Nate's obvious response was going to be, "Oh, no, no, it'll be four times as hard. They know we're coming."

"...And how do they know that?" Parker questioned.

"I went to their office and told them," Nate nonchalantly answered.

"Oh, Nate," Sophie sighed, exasperated as Nate began to walk away, "Look, we all want to hurt these guys, right? They humiliated us. But, you know, taunting them? The response is going to be...biblical."

"That's what I'm counting on."

Oh, Quinn _couldn't_ wait.

 

 

 

 

 

Jesus Christ, he had to set up a date with Maggie with Nate looking over his shoulder. He felt like he was fourteen with his dad staring at him as he asked out a girl for the first time.

Meeting Maggie for coffee...was certainly an adventure.

"You come to this place a lot?" He asked.

"No, I just really wanted to see you," Maggie smiled. He couldn't help but smile, inwardly trying not to think of how Nate was going to make his life Hell later (he was promptly ignoring their voices in his head). "We're not going to talk about art all afternoon are we?"

"We can talk about anything," Quinn smiled again. "Art or no art."

"Good. That's all my ex-husband wanted to talk about." She glanced up from her menu, "That was so tedious."

She put her hand over his and continued, "Listen, I want to thank you. I haven't dated a lot since my marriage broke up."

"I'm sorry to hear that."

"No, don't be. He was obsessive, perfectionist, controlling." ( _"Organized...she used to say I was organized...and punctual!"_ Shit.)

Oh god Nate was gonna make things worse if he didn't try to save this. "He...must have had some good qualities. You married him, after all."

"No, not even in bed." Maggie chuckled, and Quinn- ( _"OOH!"_ Damn it, Parker...)- subtly stiffened. "Every night was prom night, you know what I mean?" She paused. "But worst of all," Her gaze traveled down, "he completely forgot I gave him that same button camera for Christmas three years ago."

Oh shit. Maggie smiled, heading towards the van. As he chased after her, he couldn't help the feeling like he was just completely used.

 

 

 

 

 

Maggie working with them brought a new dynamic to the team, not one Quinn could say he could hate. Sophie trying to apologize was something he couldn't quite hate either.

"I was just trying to make myself useful." She gestured vaguely.

"Last time you tried that, we had to blow up the office."

"Well, that's not fair," She said softly.

"I was just getting used to it."

"To what...? Having an office?"

"Being part of a team." Quinn admitted. He hadn't had someone to work with since Eliot, and it was something he had to get used to all over again.

"Look, I didn't mean - it wasn't supposed to go down like that..."

Parker came in just then, "What's going on?"

"Well, I think Sophie is trying to apologize, but she kinda sucks at it."

"No, I wasn't." Sophie cut in.

"Oh, she tried that with me earlier. She does suck at it."

"Yeah, a little bit," Quinn agreed.

"Oh, did she give you the speech about how we're thieves?" Hardison wondered as he arrived. "About how this is what thieves do, and if we were in her shoes, we would have done the same thing?"

Quinn tilted his head, "No, I think she was just about to." He stood, "Why did you apologize to him first? Why did I get to go last?"

"I wasn't apologizing!" Sophie deflected. Figures-

"...That's the problem."

"I just..." Sophie began, "wanted to see if we- we were all okay with each other."

"There you go," Quinn nodded.

"I forgive you." Parker told her.

"Apology accepted." Hardison agreed.

"Yeah," Quinn answered her statement.

"No, I wasn't-...you- I didn't-...oh, no, no, no, edge it just a bit left...there." Sophie smiled when Hardison's creepy painting was lined up over the mantle.

 

 

 

 

 

Quinn liked it when it all came together. So with Blackpoole finally out of the picture, the job was finally done. They met up in an air hanger, in their customary circle.

"Thank you, all of you," Nate spoke, "You surprised me."

"We had an interesting run...in a good way," Quinn acknowledged.

"It's a good time to move on." Hardison avoided eye contact.

"I'm going somewhere...else," Parker crossed her arms, unsure of what to say.

Sophie smiled at Nate, "Fresh start."

"We made a difference," Nate reminded, glancing at each of them, "Remember that."

Quinn exchanged glances with the four people around him that, admittedly, changed his life.

"Where you going?" Hardison looked to Parker. She smiled and said,

"Let's see how hard you look." The silence filled them, and when they walked away...

_"Listen, I'm going to Belgrade in Serbia for some kind of client meeting or something. Want to come along?"_

_"Cant. Some guy wants me to retrieve this statue and remove the owner. I'm off to Turkey for the next few weeks. Maybe we'll meet up for the next job."_

Quinn felt like it was one of the hardest walks of his life. It really had been too long since he worked with others, and working with them had been life changing. It was different, in a good way. But right now, he was faced with heading off alone.

 

 

 

 

 

It wasn't until six months later that they all accidentally met up again in Boston for Sophie's play (his ears, man, they'll be damaged permanently). Quinn had been curious on how they were doing, taking some time off for the shit in Pakistan he was doing for the hell of it. Until they all decided to get back together, and when Nate (Nate, who was sober, apparently quit drinking, Nate) objected that they were all doing fine, well...

("Well, I stole the Hope Diamond-" "What?" "-Then I put it back. Yeah, because I was bored. Didn't care."

"I spent three days hacking the White House e-mail. No buzz-" "See?" "-But we are doing some pretty hinky stuff in Pakistan. _Hinky_."

"Look, I'm miserable. They're miserable." Sophie gestured, then looked at Quinn, "Okay, what have you been doing the last six months?"

He paused, then said, "I was...in Pakistan.")

...well, they broke into his apartment and did the job in it, even with all of his reluctance. That was quite entertaining, if one asked Quinn. It was even more fun seeing his reaction with the fact that Hardison was now Nate's landlord, and doing all the renovations. Beating up some mob guys and pretending to be dead was its own brand of interesting, too.

Then they had to job in Nebraska. It was during the job that they probably saw what he would really have to do. Not just fight, but take a beating as well. They had all argued that it wasn't necessary, but there was no way to predict that guy had a cousin in South Dakota. If he wanted the client's family and the team to survive this encounter, he would just have to take it.

But, in hindsight, Quinn should have figured that Nate would have come up with another plan. The ring doctor was great for agreeing to help out.

Taking the beating after that was easy, especially since he got to knock out "Tank" (was that the guy's real name?) with a greatly executed hold. It was almost worth the black eye he had.

_"You street fight more than actual technique," Eliot rolled his eyes._

_"I broke your ribs with that 'street fighting'."_

_"Knowing styles and technique will help you more, Quinn."_

_"Alright, alright. Striking, grappling, jiujitsu, right? MMA?"_

"Quinn, ready to go?"

Nate jolted Quinn from his thoughts, looking back at the mastermind. On occasion, he wondered if Nate could know what he was thinking about, but there wasn't enough paranoia in the world to help him with that kind of thinking. He would just be on guard all the time.

"Let's shove off," Quinn smiled, and headed towards the van.

 

 

 

 

 

Quinn hadn't done a kidnap and rescue in a long time. But with Nate and Maggie taken, he knew he would have to. He stole the phone from Sterling when he said he was going to call the police.

"Two hostages means they can kill one to make a point," He growled, annoyed. Sterling was an insurance investigator, not a goddamn expert in situations like these. "No cops."

_"Three types of calls, Quinn." Eliot huffed._

_"You say that like I don't know them." The brunet glanced down at the phone on the table. The clients were waiting in another room, anxious to see if they would get their kids back._

_"Well what are they?"_

_"What's with all the quizzing?"_

_"Humor me, man. We have time to kill."_

"There are three types of calls that can come now. The first is amateur and that's cash and a dump site. The second one is professional: wire-transfers and multiple location drop-offs. The third one is targeted."

"Targeted towards us?" Hardison questioned.

"No. Targeted towards a specific ransom demand. Not cash," Quinn glanced down at the Egg.

"You're not risking a nine-million dollar artifact on a hunch!" Sterling intervened. "Let me run this-" Quinn stopped listening there. Sterling didn't know what he was doing.

"Listen, Sterling. I'm the retrieval specialist here. My job included things like this," He interrupted, crossing his arms.

"Your friends' lives hang in the balance. And you're gonna take your cues from a punch-up artist instead of me?" Sterling closed the case, and went to leave, "Call me when you need me. 'Cause you will need me."

"Pain in the ass," Quinn muttered.

 

 

 

 

 

"You know, people underestimate you, Quinn," Maggie smiled.

"That's kind of the point," Nate frowned.

The job finished up easily enough. He knew his K&R 101 and Sam was an amateur at being a kidnapper. It was too obvious at the way they turned up the sound in the room for them. The guy had to be given some credit though, he knew what to say and do to some degree. It was later at the bar, after Maggie and Nate finished their goodbyes that Nate came and sat with him.

"So, you did kidnap and rescue in your career?" Nate asked, almost conversationally.

"Some, yeah," Quinn shrugged, hand around the beer bottle. "I wasn't an advocate on the kidnapping of innocent people and children, so I did a few rescue missions in my time."

"Where did you learn it from?"

"Picked it up here and there. Hear things, see some things, you know," Quinn answered casually. Yet, he wanted to know why Nate was so interested. They weren't all that into delving into the past, so he had to wonder what the hell Nate was up to. "Any reason you wanted to know?"

"Hoping to pick up some pointers, in case this happens again. In case you're the one kidnapped and we have to save you," Nate drinking from the coffee cup that obviously had alcohol in it.

"Is that so?" Quinn hummed into his drink, thinking. There couldn't be too much harm in it, and it would be too much work to wonder about Nate's ulterior motives for this.

_"Three types of calls, Quinn." Eliot huffed._

"Well, there's three types of calls you can get, but even before you get into that, you have to always ask for proof of life, and never call the police if there's more than one hostage. Two means one can be killed to make a point," He took a sip, "So, the three calls. The first is amateur..."

 

 

 

 

 

"Still counting?"

"Still counting."

 

 

 

 

 

"...Still counting?"

"Still counting."

 

 

 

 

 

"Thirteen..."

"C'mon, move," The guy next to Quinn shoved him, so he promptly headbutted him. The one on the stairs kicked him, and he swiftly returned the favor.

"Twelve," He breathed as he smashed one's head onto the steps, and the other's into the railing. "Eleven." He stepped around the stairs, waiting until the next one came around the corner, then easily took care of him. He headed back to the stairs, snapping the zip ties. "Ten."

Following the corridors, he came across three more. He ducked under the first's gun, smashed him into the second. He kicked the third's weapon out of his hand, then smashed his fist into the first as he recovered. "Nine." He cushioned the second's blow to his chest, grabbed his arm then threw him into the third. "Eight," He mumbled as he waltzed over to the third and knocked him out. He kicked the second's head just to be sure. "Seven."

"Six," He growled once the bald man was out cold around the next turn. He ignored the pounding in his head as the next two came down a flight a stairs, and bashed their own heads together. "Five and four package deal."

The next came when he followed a left turn, and took a wrench to his shoulder for his missed observation. He blatantly returned the favor with a punch to the solar plexus and an immediate take down. "Three." The one right after came up from behind, and Quinn narrowly missed getting shot. He used the wrench from the previous man to disarm him, and tackled him right after to hit him unconscious. "Two."

Then he found Hardison (or the other way around, who cared. _The Maltese Falcon_ \- or whatever it said on the damn ship- was getting on his nerves).

"Hey, it took you long enough," Hardison said, holding a monkey wrench. Quinn stepped off the stairs, walking towards him.

"What?"

"Freeze," Said the lucky man who got grabbed and punched in the face twice. Quinn huffed in irritation when he dropped the man.

"One."

 

 

 

 

 

He could not believe that Nate was doing this shit. Whatever happened to not conning your own team? Someone was a damn hypocrite. And Nate pretended he wasn't injured, like someone (someone who wasn't trained in this kind of shit) wouldn't notice. The rest of the team might have been unable to spot it, but Quinn could. And he had to coral them onto the helicopter because it was their only out. Quinn took one last look at Nate, Sterling, and Sterling's band of armed misfits before stepping onto the helicopter himself.

God, he had been happy to have Sophie back, but all of that went away the moment this happened.

"I can't believe he did this..." Parker stared out the window as their vehicle took off.

"He's a stupid, stupid man," Sophie wiped at her eyes. Hardison's head shook side to side in disbelief.

"There must have been another way," The hacker spoke quietly. Quinn only watched Nate until they flew too far to see him.

Stupid man indeed, he thought bitterly.

 

 

 

 

 

Leave it to Nate to make them do a case while breaking him out of prison. As if that wasn't enough, they were being blackmailed into taking down Damien Moreau.

The Damien Moreau that financed the Russian mafia and Columbian drug cartels. The Damien Moreau that moved money for North Koreans and trafficked in stolen artifacts from Iraq. The Damien Moreau that dealt in _nuclear_ _materials_ for Iran.

The same Damien Moreau that Eliot now worked for.

"We can't...go at him directly," Quinn interjected the night Nate told the team. "He'll erase us from existence."

"Right, so what we do is, we do like we have always done in the past, is do jobs that help people. Only this time, some of them are gonna lead us right to Moreau," Nate said, and silence filled the air.

"...Okay," Hardison nodded, "I mean, I do have a pretty big client list waiting for us to check out." There was a pause, but the Hardison smiled, "Oh, we back in business."

Quinn followed the two out, only to wonder how the hell this was gonna work out. He was going to have to steer the team away from Moreau, for their own safety. There was no chance in any kind of universe that this would work out well and with all of them alive at the end. He'd have to do it himself, somehow. The first problem was how he was going to deal with Eliot there.

There were two ways it could pan out:

One: Eliot would help him take down Moraeu...

or

Two: Eliot would kill him...

Quinn sighed, and pinched the bridge of his nose. It was probably fifty-fifty. Forty-sixty maybe.

...Thirty-seventy.

 

 

 

 

 

"You know, you seem different, lately," Parker said as she went to poke at his bruised arm. He batted her away, crossing his arms.

"Different?" He asked with a raised eyebrow.

"You're grouchy. And you growl more. Is it because of the blackmailing thing?" Quinn needed to know why this girl knew how to be perceptive at the worst times. He blamed Sophie.

"Nate hasn't given us any breaks, Parker," He huffed, "I don't magically heal when we get new jobs. I need time in-between them."

"Oh," Parker widened her eyes, "Nate's been grouchy lately too. I think that's either because he was in prison or because of the Italian."

"Does it not bother you?"

"Not really," Parker swung her legs, sitting on the counter. "I mean, Nate always figures out a way to get us out of messes."

Quinn frowned, "...And if he doesn't?"

"He will."

"He's not perfect, Parker," Quinn glanced over at Nate, who was sitting with Hardison to discuss how they were going to take down Mark Vector to gain access to Moreau investments' accounts. "Moreau isn't just any mark."

"Why do you keep saying that? It's like you don't want us to go after Moreau..." Parker's eyebrows furrowed. "Do you not want us to take down Moreau?"

"Parker, if there was a way for us to get out of this without crossing paths with Moreau, I would take it," Quinn sighed. "We've taken down big marks, but Moreau...he's the biggest."

"It'll be fine; I'm sure," Parker smiled.

"And how do you know that?"

"Because we're the best team there is."

 

 

 

 

 

Quinn needed to know where Moreau was now, especially considering the girl they just saved had something to do with it. Yasmin, that was her name, apparently was building some kind of battery. Sophie said Moreau was holding an auction in D.C. at a two-million dollar buy in for something called Ram's Horn, and Quinn told the team that he and Hardison would handle the invite. But, he needed to make sure he wasn't going in there to get both of them killed.

So, he picked up his phone and went to be alone while the rest of the team made plans. Quinn stared at the contact's list a long time before scrolling down to the person he needed, and spent even a longer time before pressing the call button.

It rang seven times before it got an answer.

" _Go._ "

"Really, Eliot? Years since our last call and that's all you can say?" the brunet couldn't help but quip. Damn, Eliot still had that same accent after all this time.

" _...Quinn?_ "

"The one and only."

" _...Give me a second,_ " There was some shuffling, the opening and closing of a door. " _Quinn._ "

"Eliot."

" _Why so long for the call, Quinn?_ "

"Wasn't sure if this was still your number; I know how often you break phones," Quinn smiled involuntarily when he heard Eliot huff in amusement. Well, Eliot was still somewhat human if he could still laugh.

" _You don't change, do you?_ "

"No, sir," His smile grew.

" _So, why are you really calling?_ "

"Hey, I can't catch up after all this time?"

" _Quinn._ "

"Okay, okay," Quinn took a breath, "I've got this client. Some international client with a middleman he wants me to escort."

" _And?_ "

"I'm supposed to escort him to Damien Moreau to get an invite to the auction at the end of the week."

" _How do you know about that?_ "

"I don't. I just know what I've been told, which is what I'm telling you."

" _So why are you telling me this?_ "

"I need to make the meeting with Moreau, but the only way I could figure how to do that was-"

" _-calling me, right. Quinn, he doesn't just meet with anybody._ "

"I'm not saying it has to go well; I just need to be an escort in and out."

" _...I don't think-_ "

"Please, Eliot," Quinn internally winced when there was silence after that. He had started to think that Eliot hung up on him when-

" _...Alright, fine,_ " Eliot sighed. " _I'll see what I can do. No promises, Quinn._ "

"I can deal with that," Quinn smiled again, "Thanks, Eliot."

" _Whatever. I'll call you back when I get an answer. And next time you call me, don't make it for business only, and don't wait years on end for it._ "

The call ended.

 

 

 

 

 

"Moreau is having a party downstairs, and the only way in is the service elevator... Your plan is what exactly?" Quinn shook his head at Hardison, who was wheeling a cart. He wasn't entirely listening, but he did hear the man say something about being his bodyguard and Hardison the middleman, like they had discussed earlier. "Right, whatever..."

Hardison rolled his eyes and the cart, heading towards the service elevator. The hacker began talking to the men at the elevator, but Quinn just stared at one in particular.

"And you are?" The man asked.

"My name is Quinn." Hardison paused in his rambling, staring at him. The two men looked at each other.

"Let them through," One of them on the side nodded towards the elevator doors. The first nodded back, and the doors dinged open. As Quinn stepped inside, he ignored Hardison.

"Why did you tell them your real name?" He asked in a low voice, but Quinn just kept his eyes forward. He was tense for the meeting ahead. The hacker asked twice more, but Quinn cut him off there.

"Just..." He whispered, "stay close to me. It could get messy. Play your part." Hardison shut his mouth for the rest of the descent. Quinn stepped out first, letting Hardison stay behind him as he headed into the pool area, making sure to keep his stride slow enough not to arouse too much suspicion. Regardless, the men lining the pool removed their guns as they made their way down.

He stopped just as Eliot stood. Quinn had to say, the man hadn't really changed, aside from the hair that was pulled tightly back, almost mimicking Quinn's growing hair. Eliot stood in front of him, arms crossed over the probably expensive suit. The guards all raised their guns, and Quinn could feel Hardison stiffening behind him.

"Quinn," Eliot said with a hint of a smile, raising his hand. The guard lowered their weapons, holstering them.

"Eliot," Quinn nodded back. "Not going to break my ribs, are you?"

"Not unless you deserve it. Growing out your hair now?"

"Uh, pot," Quinn almost smiled, "kettle."

Eliot smiled this time. "Point taken." The door to the sauna opened at that point, and Quinn straightened, feeling Eliot do the same. He also ignored Hardison's aura of confusion. Moreau stepped out, rubbing a towel at his hair.

"Ah, so this must be the Mr. Quinn I have heard so much about," Moreau smiled, fake and polite.

"This is Quinn and his client," Eliot gestured.

"Mr. Moreau," Quinn inclined his head slightly, "I appreciate you taking the time for this."

"Of course, anything for one of Eliot's old friends. I heard from Eliot you two ran many jobs together before he came and worked for me." Moreau definitely knew how to play host, Quinn had to give him that.

"I hope he's been saying good things about me."

"There's nothing good about you," Eliot rolled his eyes, but the tone was playful. Quinn repressed a smile.

"If you don't mind, I'd like to get to business," Quinn stated politely, "Many other jobs to get back to."

"Sure thing," Moreau replied, then looked to Hardison for the first time, "However, I would like some precautions. Even if Eliot knows you, Mr. Quinn, neither of us know this man."

"I'm sure he wouldn't mind," Quinn shot a glance to Hardison.

Hardison, in his weird faked accent, added, "I do not mind at all."

"Wonderful," Moreau smiled again.

And that's how Hardison ended handcuffed to a chair.

"You call this a plan?" Hardison whispered angrily.

"I'm not handcuffed to anything," Quinn muttered, crossing his arms. He watched as Moreau poured himself a drink and moved to sit. Eliot took place by his side.

"I hear this is an escort job?" Moreau questioned casually.

"I've been contracted to escort the middleman in and out of here," He answered. Moreau hummed, then looked at Hardison.

Obviously sensing the man's discomfort, he said, "Don't take it personally. It takes me awhile to warm up to people." He glanced back at Quinn. "This is not a retrieval job then."

Quinn shook his head slightly.

"Pardon," Hardison cut in, " _Monsieur_ , my client has heard of what you're selling and would like to acquire the Ram's Horn."

Moreau wasn't fooled. "And your client is...?"

"If you indulge us with the details of the auction, we can make a bid, and all will be revealed. I assure you we are working in good faith."

"I'm sure you are. I'm sure you are. But I don't know you." Moreau glanced back up at Quinn. "I have at least heard things about you. Good things... We could talk."

"I'm not much of a talker, Mr. Moreau." Quinn responded.

"Okay, let's keep it short," Moreau nodded shortly at Eliot. Eliot took two steps forward; he kicked Hardison's chair into the pool. Quinn resisted the urge to flinch. "I'm sure you told your clients that I don't do business with strangers. Everyone knows this."

"I do, sir, that's why they hired me," Quinn gave a small nod towards Eliot. "They were hoping that my past with Eliot could help vouch for the client."

"Well, that hardly seems like a smart tactical move," Moreau raised an eyebrow. "It's a bit vague and overreaching."

"I just do what I'm contracted to do."

"Tell us about your clients," Eliot cut in, sensing something Quinn didn't get.

"I can't say much, since I use the same confidentiality with all clients, but I can tell you that they are overseas. Sell it to them, and once it leaves U.S. soil there will be no trace back to you."

"I already have international buyers, so it's not an issue," Moreau countered. He paused, grabbed his drink and took a sip of it. "What else you got?"

Quinn hesitated. He needed to get them to the auction, and if he didn't come up with something, they would all be dead (Hardison obviously first). He inhaled slowly and said, "A favor, from me."

"A favor?" Moreau smiled, apparently amused. "From the infamous Mr. Quinn...alright. I'll make you a deal. Kill Elias Atherton for me tomorrow, and I will have Eliot pass along the details."

"Deal," Quinn nodded. Moreau looked to Eliot, who then dropped the cuff keys into the pool. Seconds later, Hardison emerged from the surface, and made his way to the ladder. The hacker was silent as he wandered back up to Quinn.

"And what message," He breathed, "should I convey to my employer?"

Moreau laughed, "I like this man." He looked back to Quinn and added, "Glad we could strike a deal." As he turned and walked away, Quinn shoved Hardison along with his shoulder.

"Come on," He told him quietly.

"I lowered the chair and sucked the air from the pneumatic. It gave me an extra 30 seconds. That better be why you didn't come and get me - cause you knew I'd do that right?"

"Yeah, Hardison, 'cause I knew you were gonna suck air out of the chair," Quinn shoved his way out the door.

"It better be why you didn't come get me."

 

 

 

 

 

Quinn ignored Hardison's angry posture when they made their way over to the rest of the team. Nate must have sensed the tension.

"What?" He asked.

"Tell them what you did, Quinn," Hardison spoke angrily. "You risked _my life_."

Quinn ignored him and the others staring at him, looking Nate, "We're in. Moreau will give me the details of the auction tomorrow."

"You? Why's he giving you-" Sophie began.

"We're in." Quinn cut her off. "Just make the plan."

"Hey," Hardison looked directly at Nate, "Quinn used to work with Moreau's enforcer back in the day. A lot." He looked back to Quinn, "Tell them."

"His enforcer?" Parker repeated.

"Eliot Spencer." Nate informed. "One of the strongest wet work agents to live before he started working for Moreau." He stood, matching his gaze with Quinn. "We've been chasing Moreau for six months, and you didn't tell us this."

"Because I was trying-"

"Because what?"

"-to figure out a way around this, alright; maybe take my shot before-"

"Because you were protecting Spencer? Is that what you're-"

"Cause I'm protecting you!" Quinn interrupted with a shout. "Now, last time I checked, that was my job on this team."

"Look," Nate sighed, "We can handle Moreau _and_ Spencer."

"We're out of our league, Nate." Quinn shook his head. "I've done some bad things in my life, but the people that work for Moreau...they are worse than me. Every one of them has innocent blood on their hands. Every one of them. Including Eliot. And yeah, I may have been working with Eliot in the past, but I haven't spoken to him in years. Not since he joined up with Moreau. But when we did work together, he was legendary. Nate, we can't do this."

"Look, Quinn, we've all learned the hard way that we've got to be straight with each other." Sophie sighed. "You should have said something from the beginning."

Quinn stared at Nate, who crossed his arms. He was aware of Hardison taking the tablet from Sophie, but kept his attention on the man in front of him.

Nate cleared his throat, "So, you said that Moreau is gonna give you details on the auction tomorrow. Why tomorrow?"

"We struck a deal that I would do something for him first," Quinn explained and Nate nodded.

"What?"

"Kill Atherton."

The other three looked up at him. Sophie, in disbelief, said, "Kill Atherton? You can't. You're not that man anymore."

Quinn gave a small nod to Nate and he returned the gesture. "He might have to be...to get us in."

"So we can buy a bomb?" Hardison jumped in.

"What?"

"Ram's Horn - it's a bomb. A _very_ big bomb."

Well, this job certainly just got thirty times more dangerous.

 

 

 

 

 

Quinn waited until Eliot pulled to a stop in the car.

"D.C. has a lot of traffic cams. Tell me about the car." He turned to look at the other.

"It was stolen from Virginia," Eliot started to say, "After this, it will be loaded onto a freighter and dumped into the Atlantic."

Eliot glanced at the gun compartment. "There's a gun in there. Serial number's shaved off and it'll be dumped with the car."

"...I stopped working with guns," Quinn told him as he pulled out the weapon, unloaded the chamber, and removed the magazine. Eliot looked back at him with what could have been considered a smile.

"Me too."

"How?" Quinn questioned in disbelief.

"I," Eliot hesitated, but continued in a quieter tone, "I haven't exactly killed anyone in a few years."

"Then how are you-?"

"It's a very complicated thing I don't have time to explain," Eliot looked back out the window. "There."

Atherton was heading down the stairs.

"Men have been watching Atherton for weeks. Always out at 6:35 in the morning and always takes the same route to work."

Quinn watched with a frown as a little girl hopped down the stairs.

"Is the whole family-?"

"No," Eliot stated firmly. "Just him." Quinn looked back to the other.

"Alright then..." He frowned and got out of the car.

 

 

 

 

 

"I got the address." Quinn glanced up at Nate, who nodded. "One hour."

"Tell me something, Quinn," Nate sat down next to the hitter, who looked back at him in confusion. The others were gone at the moment.

"What?"

"Eliot Spencer."

"...What about him?"

"Work history, personality, things like that."

Quinn had no idea where this was going. Nonetheless, he answered the inquiry (with less details than Nate needed to know). "He used to be a soldier in the US military until he became a retrieval specialist and hitter. Uh, he's loyal, stubborn, protective. Cares about his friends, even if he hasn't spoken to them in years."

"Quinn...how did you get close to Moreau?" Nate looked at him.

Quinn had a hunch, but wasn't entirely sure what the question had to do with this conversation, "I called Eliot and asked him to set up a meeting."

"And he agreed?"

"I asked nicely."

"Tell me what Spencer was like when you went to 'kill' Atherton."

"Professional...but..." Quinn frowned.

"But what?" The other pressed.

"Something in his eyes." The hitter leaned forward, looking Nate in his eyes, "He told me he hadn't actually killed someone in years and said he didn't use guns anymore. And that thing in his eyes: it made me believe him."

Nate nodded, looking satisfied. "Well, okay."

"Okay...what?" Quinn furrowed his brow.

"I think we can sway Eliot Spencer onto our side."

"Say what now?" Quinn stared incredulously, "I told you he's loyal. He'll be loyal to Moreau."

"If he _was_ loyal to Moreau, then why has he stopped killing?" Well, he didn't have an answer to that.

"Even if he did switch sides...why do you want him on ours? You heard what I said."

"People change, Quinn." Nate smirked. "I think he can change to."

 

 

 

 

 

"Why would you hold an auction in a warehouse...?" Quinn frowned an hour later, when they entered the warehouse.

"Well you wouldn't," Nate told him just as the turned the corner. The Italian was bound and gagged to a chair. As Nate looked her over, Quinn heard the distinct sound of the doors being closed.

"Well this is great." He mumbled to himself while Nate woke The Italian. He didn't hear their quiet conversation, too focused on the men moving about. "Nate, we got to go." Nate helped along The Italian as he led the way, keeping an ear out for the footsteps of Moreau's men.

A phone rang.

"I got it," Quinn pulled the phone out and answered. "Mr. Moreau."

" _For what it's worth, she didn't talk,_ " Moreau greeted, " _So I sent some friends to continue the conversation_."

"Then I guess I'll be seeing you soon."

" _By the way, for a man of your caliber, the white hat doesn't suit you._ " Quinn shut the phone.

"Quinn, are we in trouble?" Nate asked. Quinn glanced at him.

"Oh yeah." He nodded then turned back. "Come on." He led them around several corners until the guy with a gun came at them. Quickly, he disarmed him and knocked him out. Exhaling, he signaled for Nate to stop and peeked around the corner. About a dozen of Moreau's men were moving into positions, guns at the ready.

He turned back, looking at Nate, who pointed and whispered, "So, we just have to get to that door."

"That's a kill box," He returned in the same whisper, "There's too much space between here and there." He looked to The Italian. "Are you sure you can actually take down Moreau?"

She nodded, "Absolutely." Quinn looked down towards the gun, knowing Nate followed his line of sight.

"Quinn, listen..." Nate began but Quinn just picked up the weapon and looked at him. The team knew how he disarmed every gun he came across during jobs. He hadn't used them since Eliot started working with Moreau. He had heard of the things the people did for Moreau, and he couldn't handle using guns knowing somewhere the weapons were being used to do those things. But, right now, he needed to use the weapon before him to get the people he had to protect out of here...

"Get her out of here." And he turned around the corner and started shooting.

He ducked under the cardboard box once Nate and The Italian were clear, letting the enemy shoot it to pieces. He waited for their fire to pause, to check if he was dead.

He waited.

Five seconds.

Ten.

He stood and fired again, making his way to the right, shooting the man there, and taking cover. He took the dead man's gun, stood and fired again multiple times. He shot the man coming up behind him, still focusing ahead of him. He ducked, then ran for cover on the other side, diving onto the boxes and shooting the man there along the way.

He fired blindly at the containers full of lubrication until his gun emptied, then dropped it. He pulled down the dead man above him, grabbed his gun. He waited until the shooting ceased.

He stood, walked towards the middle. Waited three seconds, loaded the chamber of the guns. Waited as the men took their aim again. Waited four seconds.

And ran.

They fired, he ducked down and slid across the lubrication spilled onto the floor. He aimed, shot, turned and shot again. Turned back, fired more. Turned a third time, aimed and shot.

Slid down to the end of the slick floor, and shot the explosive barrel; watched it explode.

He exhaled, dropped the empty guns and stood. He stared at the burning fire.

"And you said you didn't use guns anymore." Eliot's voice made him whip around. The once soldier was unarmed, leaning against crates with his arms crossed.

"I never said I couldn't use them." Quinn breathed. "You going to kill me, Eliot?"

"I told you I don't kill anymore."

Quinn recalled what Nate said not even two hours ago and frowned. "You don't like working for Moreau, do you?"

Eliot's lips twitched into a frown.

"I mean, you don't kill for him. Like everyone else does. Yet he hasn't killed you for it, so that's weird."

"Quinn." Eliot sighed, loud enough over the crackling of the fire behind Quinn. "You know what Moreau's men have?"

"Innocent blood on their hands, Eliot. Includes you, I know."

"Then you should understand why I won't kill anyone anymore. The worst thing I've ever done in my entire life...has been for Moreau."

"Help us take down Moreau."

Eliot froze. "...Excuse me?"

"I know you're old, but your hearing isn't gone, Eliot," Quinn crossed his arms, still slightly on guard, "Help my team take down Moreau. Don't go down with a man you don't want to work for."

"It doesn't work like that Quinn."

"Why not? I can even kill him for you. I'm your Huckleberry."

"Quinn." Quinn took two steps forward, looking Eliot in the eye.

"Tell me one good reason why you can't help us."

"I...can't be clean of what I've done. Taking down the man who made me what I am won't change that."

"No, but it will help you take steps towards redeeming yourself." Quinn put his hands on Eliot's shoulders. "Help us take down Moreau."

"..." Eliot avoided his gaze, then finally looked back. "He'll be at the airport to fly to San Lorenzo very soon."

Quinn smiled, "Then let's hurry."

(And Quinn was very glad he wasn't a gambling man.)

 

 

 

 

 

Quinn sprinted through the airport hanger as fast as he could, but he wasn't fast enough to stop Moreau from shooting The Italian.

"No, Quinn, no!" Nate grabbed him, "I've got other plans for him." Quinn glared at the airplane as its door shut. "Quinn! Quinn!"

Huffing, Quinn stalked over to Nate and the woman, removing his outer jacket to put pressure on the wounds as the plan drove off towards the runway. Seconds later, Eliot came around the corner.

"Are you stupid, Quinn? Running in like that?" Eliot threw up his arms.

"Hey, it's not like you were here to stop it," Quinn shot a look at him. "Moreau's not allowed to see you."

"You're an idiot," Eliot growled. Nate looked up, obviously done from calling an ambulance.

"You two done or can we get her medical attention?"

"He's not surprised..." Eliot gave an odd look to Nate then to Quinn, "...why is he not surprised?"

"He's infuriating like that, just come here," Quinn sighed as Eliot finally gave up and knelt down to help.

"I see you've changed sides then, Spencer."

"...You wanted me to make him switch sides?" Quinn said suddenly, realizing what that conversation was about.

"I knew you weren't gonna kill him, so yeah. I figured you would try anyway, so I showed my support."

"You're insufferable..." Quinn muttered. Eliot just shook his head, focusing on The Italian's wound.

Hours later, Quinn stood with Nate, listening to the team heading towards them.

"The team...they don't need to know what I did." He sighed. He couldn't ruin the image that he wasn't 'that man anymore' for them. It was best that they were left in the dark. He could still feel the sensation of the guns in his hands, and subtly shook it away.

"I don't know what you're talking about." They turned to walk to the ambulance, and he listened as Nate talked with The Italian.

"You're a free man, now," She said after a few exchanged sentences.

"The job's not done."

"The job is dead."

"Moreau's gone to San Lorenzo, tiny little European country with no extradition treaty, with anyone," Hardison added.

"You couldn't touch him in your own country. How can you touch him in his?" The Italian asked. Nate smirked and walked away. Following after him, Sophie had to ask the question.

"What now?"

"Now we go get him," Nate told her.

"To San Lorenzo?" Quinn scowled.

"To San Lorenzo."

"Nate, what are we going to do when we get there?" Sophie questioned.

"Finish the job," Nate said, then looked to Quinn. "Go tell Spencer we'll be heading back to Boston to prep."

"Spencer? As in Eliot Spencer?" Hardison cut in.

"That's the one."

"What does Eliot Spencer have to do with us?"

"Oh, he's on our side now."

"What? Nate, you can't be serious," Sophie gasped.

"I get the feeling I was the only one who knew about this plan," Quinn raised an eyebrow.

Nate confirmed, "yep."

"Well, I guess you get to be the one to explain then. I'm going to find Eliot." The hitter turned and broke off from the group before he could hear any disapproval or rebuttals. He found Eliot on the other side of the hanger, sitting on a cargo box.

"Done talking to your team?" Eliot greeted.

"Hi to you, too," Quinn grinned, hopping up to sit beside the man.

"What's the word then?"

"Nate's explaining to them that you switched sides, and I'm here to tell you we're going back to Boston to prepare to go to San Lorenzo."

"Wait, you're seriously going after Moreau. In San Lorenzo? Quinn, he practically owns the whole country."

"Listen, Nate's the man with the plan here. Crazy as it sounds, I think we should do it. Can't let him get away with this."

"'This' being...?"

"All the crimes, the bomb he sold, kicking Hardison into a pool...doing that shit to you, you know, etcetera, etcetera," Quinn shrugged.

"...Your team is insane." Eliot skipped over the mention about him. Fine then, Quinn inwardly pouted. "You guys must be the 'nastiest team' the grapevine has heard so much about."

"We _are_ the nastiest team on this side of the Atlantic," Quinn grinned and wiggled his eyebrows playfully, and he saw the ghost of a smile on Eliot's face. "We can take down Moreau. With your help, it'll be even better. The two best hitters in the world, right?"

"Yeah, alright," Eliot finally smiled. "Speaking of hitters, who's running the top freelance spot now? Chapman?"

"Chapman?" Quinn's face lit up, "You've got to hear this. So Chapman was hired by this insurance guy to take me out, right, so we're in this airport hanger and..."

 

 

 

 

 

Eliot and Quinn had been working in Quinn's apartment, separate from everyone else in Nate's loft above the bar. It was obvious that the team (excluding Nate) was suspicious about working with Eliot, so Quinn told them that he'd be with Eliot at his own home for the first couple days to start working on the job at hand. Nate thought that the team should suck it up (or so his face said), but Quinn just had Hardison set up a video chat on the laptop Quinn took with him.

The audio was currently off, but the chat was still online, so if any of the team looked up at the big screens in the loft, they'd see an angle of Quinn and Eliot in the kitchen (apparently, there was no way of turning it off completely, but that was probably because Hardison figured if Eliot was going to kill Quinn, at least they would have it on tape...Quinn didn't know whether to worry about the hacker's paranoia or commend him on such a plan that wouldn't need implementing).

"Tell me about San Lorenzo's election," Quinn watched as Eliot put those cooking skills to good use at Quinn's underused and neglected stove. He leaned against the counter, arms crossed.

"Ribera is president because Da- Moreau pays him and eliminates the candidates that pose a threat. The UN officials are kept in the dark to make it look like a fair election." Eliot stirred something in the frying pan. "I'm going to see if I can get in touch with an old friend of mine after we eat."

"Who is it?"

"He's one of the candidates running against Ribera. General Flores."

"Does he know that you work..." Quinn paused, "used to work with Moreau?"

"He does." Eliot frowned, turned the flame off on the stove. He turned to look Quinn in the eye. "He's the reason I stopped killing."

"Were you...?"

"Sent to kill him? Yeah. I refused." The older hitter turned back, moving to plate the food he just made. "Flores is a good man."

"I bet. He started you on your minor rebellion to Moreau."

"...Excuse me? My what?"

"Eliot, you and I both know you wouldn't have helped me if you were still completely loyal to Moreau."

"I was still loyal, Quinn."

"Then why are you and I standing here, you cooking for me, both of us acting like the years apart never happened?"

Eliot made an annoyed face. "I never planned on turning on him."

"You stopped killing for Moreau years ago!" Quinn threw his arms up. "You know what that tells me, that tells me that you didn't want to work for him anymore."

"Maybe I didn't."

"Then why were you?"

"Because no one walks away from Moreau with their lives intact!" The argument crashed to a halt. Eliot sighed softly, "Quinn, I wasn't going to be able to leave."

Quinn stepped closer. "So, you rebelled in the ways you could."

"There's not much I could have done. Then you and your team of mutant ninja turtles came and gave me a chance." Quinn smiled at that.

"I think Nate knew you wanted to leave. That's why he told me to tell you to come to our side."

Eliot huffed and rolled his eyes, shaking his head. "Nathan Ford is some kind of man, forcing Moreau to retreat to his own country."

"Please, you should have seen him when we first got together. I'll tell you, you've never seen that kind of an insanity in an honest man before. Now he's a _thief_." Quinn grabbed both plates to move back to the table. Eliot followed, sitting with him. When Quinn glanced at the laptop, everyone was looking a little too innocent for his liking. An exchanged look with his fellow hitter meant they both felt the same (Eliot may not have been on the team or even known them for little more than a short time period, but the man had brains to go with his brawn). His next look went to the button that muted the audio, which said it was on, even though Quinn distinctly remembered turning it off an hour ago.

"Hardison, you better have a good reason for eavesdropping or so help me, I will break this laptop right now." To his part, Hardison _tried_ to look innocent.

"Listen, just 'cause you accidentally left your audio on for all us guys and gals to hear ain't none of my business, you hear me? I was up and doing my work like I was supposed to; I haven't even touched the video chat setting. I got no reason to man, you get me?"

"You're rambling." Quinn deadpanned.

"I..." Hardison visibly halted. "It was Nate's fault."

"I'm not entirely surprised..." Eliot murmured around a forkful of food. Quinn glared at the camera, then forcibly shut the laptop.

"Should have done that in the first place."

 

 

 

 

 

"Hey, can you get your hacker-"

"Hardison."

"Can you get Hardison to set an encrypted thing for me?" Eliot asked, moving the phone away from his ear. "Video?" Quinn finally reopened the laptop (it was a nice hour away from nosy hackers and prying grifters), seeing the chat still there.

"Hey, look who finally decided to show their faces again," Hardison said immediately, "not like we were sitting here discussing San Lorenzo without y'all, deciding on what to do."

"Hardison, shut up and set up an encrypted video stream using the call currently on Eliot's phone." Quinn glanced at Eliot and tacked on, "make sure it's safe."

"Make it safe, you mean do my job. Ungrateful, the lot of you," Hardison ranted loud enough for Quinn to ignore.

"He's taking a big chance by actually talking to us," Eliot frowned, crossing his arms.

"It'll be fine." Quinn waited for Hardison to finish up, watching as the rest of the team looked up to the screen. Eventually, the man that must have been Flores came up on screen.

"General," Eliot greeted, sitting up straighter, "can you please tell the rest of these people what you were telling me about Moreau."

"I have not been General for a long time...Commander," Flores smiled. "You understand that there have been open elections in San Lorenzo since our independence in 1969. Democracy is, uh, hard, but we were making progress until President Ribera. Ribera was a minor officer in our security forces."

"Then Moreau came along, right?" Quinn asked.

Flores nodded. "He bankrolled Ribera's political career. Within a year, Ribera bribed and murdered his way into presidency. Anyone who opposes him is declared an enemy of the state. They are imprisoned, and by law, their assets are seized; their families bankrupted."

"This is why the General's in hiding," Eliot quietly explained, "he's your candidate running against Ribera."

Nate, from the second screen on the laptop, spoke up. "General, I understand you're taking quite a risk for yourself and your family by talking to us. Uh, we- we certainly owe you a debt."

"No, I am the one with the debt," Flores replied. "Spencer saved my life...twice."

"Once...and a half." Eliot half-smiled.

Parker's curiosity must of gotten the better of her, because she asked him, "How do you half save someone's life?"

Eliot blinked at her, but answered, "'Cause I was the one sent to kill him...so I figure that only counts as a half, right?"

Hardison mumbled, "that actually makes sense."

"General, I-" Nate was cut off by the banging sounds coming from Flores' video.

"What is it?" Eliot asked.

"I don't know," Flores responded, looking up at the ceiling.

Eliot frowned, "General, is that a secure line?" Men busted in through Flores' screen as the general himself took off, men telling him to "hold it!" They grabbed hold of Flores, three of them.

"I thought you said this was safe!" Quinn shouted at Hardison.

"It was man! They just hacked it from the other side. It's serious software, like-"

"Manticore?" At Moreau's voice, Quinn shoved Eliot out of frame. "Thank you for destroying Duberman last year. Bankrupted his company, put his old servers on the open market." Moreau smiled. "Amazing what 10 million dollars and some clever tech support can do."

"Moreau." Nate stated.

"Hey, don't blame yourselves for this," Moreau carried on, "Ribera makes sure I stay safe, so I make sure he stays president. Actually, to be fair, I wouldn't have found Flores if you hadn't contacted him, so, uh, go ahead and do blame yourselves."

"You can't just kill a war hero like Flores," Quinn ground out, ignoring Eliot making furious faces and pacing on the other side of the table.

"No, of course not. We've got U.N. Election Inspectors here, world media. No, he's just in prison until after the election. Then he'll have a car accident." Moreau smiled. "Mr. Quinn, you understand how these things are done in your line of work. I'd have Eliot do them, but...well... Anyway, sleep tight." The video feed cut off.

Quinn finally glanced back up at Eliot, who was standing perfectly still, tension lining his entire frame. "Eliot." The older man looked up at him, rage clear in his eyes but not on his face. He turned and walked off towards the door, and Quinn didn't bother muting the team this time as he followed after- he just shut the damn laptop.

"Eliot, stop." Quinn knew better than to reach out, but he did block the older man's path.

"Flores got caught because _I_ was the one who called him!" Eliot stopped just short of in front of Quinn. Tension and anger lined the man's shoulders. "If he gets killed, it will be because of me."

"He's not going to die. Moreau's getting taken down Eliot. We all agreed on it." Quinn raised his hands in a placating gesture. "When we get to San Lorenzo, the first thing we do is look for a way to get Flores safe. We'll do it by ourselves if we have to."

"Quinn, this is too insane and you know it."

"The team's done insane before. _You and I_ have done insane before. It'll all work out."

Eliot sighed. "Fine."

 

 

 

 

 

Apparently, Nate called in a favor with The Italian and got all of them into San Lorenzo. While Nate, Sophie, and Hardison went to Parliament to campaign that Vittori guy, Quinn, Eliot (his face hidden by glasses and a hat), and Parker went to go find Flores. It took a little while to travel under the building, but they were getting there. Eliot knew where they were going, but he didn't know the exact underground route they were taking.

" _Quinn, you find Flores yet?_ " Nate asked over the coms.

"Yeah." He answered.

" _Good._ "

"No, Flores isn't in a regular prison," Eliot spoke up. "He's in the Tombs - cells underneath the Parliament building, left over from the old colonial days. They tore the stairwell out and put in a single elevator. Closed shafts, no access. Only way in and out. And even if you get past the guards, they're going to shoot the elevator up on your way back out. It's a kill box. Getting Flores out is going to be loud. It's going to be messy."

"Hey, how about this?" Parker shone her light. "Steam vent...welded shut."

"It's a steam vent, Parker." Quinn sighed. "People don't-" She looked at him. "-Normal people don't...They feel like- it will burn you."

Parker stopped at a pipe. "This is it. This intersection is sixty feet below the street."

"You sure that's sixty feet down?" Eliot asked. Parker sung a note, then waited a moment.

"Yeah, that's it. Sixty feet." Eliot looked vaguely impressed ("she's twenty pounds of crazy in a five pound bag" he told Quinn when Quinn had told him stories about the team). Parker grinned, shining the light, "That pipe." Quinn took the monkey wrench and made his way to open it. Eliot dropped the phone in the bag into the pipe, and they waited.

Eliot called the phone's number, put it on speaker.

" _Hello?_ " The General answered.

"General." Eliot replied.

" _Always full of surprises._ "

"We're working on a way to get you out of there, sir."

" _And my people? Spencer, the rest of my cabinet, men I fought with, my ministers, they're down here with me. I can't leave without them._ "

"Sir, we can barely find a way to get you out of there alone."

" _These people you are with now, would you leave any of them behind? Ever?_ " Eliot paused, shot a look to Quinn. Quinn kept looking at the phone, but he knew Eliot was glancing at Parker, thinking of the rest of Quinn's team. Eliot didn't know them. But Eliot knew Quinn, and Quinn knew that was enough for Eliot to protect them.

That pause was enough for Flores. " _I thought so. I cannot take the chance they will kill these men in reprisal if you rescue me. Leave me here...no matter what_." The call ended.

"You okay?" Parker asked, looking at Eliot. Quinn waited, as Eliot looked back at her, then walked away. Parker shot a frown to Quinn (she had been the first to act like Eliot had been with them all along, even if Hardison and Sophie were still skeptical and Quinn thanked her for that), wondering. Quinn shook his head.

"Nate, I hope you're having a better day than we are," He sighed, following after his fellow hitter.

 

 

 

 

 

"The election is tomorrow," Eliot glanced up from the book he was reading, "How does Ford plan on getting thousands of people to change their mind?"

"Well," Quinn smiled slightly, "Nate said this was about the time to drum up a scandal, so I'm off to go do that for him."

"What kind of scandal?" Eliot raised an eyebrow. "Everybody knows Ribera's corrupt, so money is out. Sex wouldn't work either."

"Dog fighting." Quinn answered, buttoning up the shirt.

"Dog fighting." Eliot repeated. He opened his mouth to probably question it, but paused, then said, "That could work."

"Yeah. I just need a puppy..." Quinn pursed his lips. "I'll find one. Maybe I'll adopt it."

"Don't adopt a random dog if you won't take care of it." Eliot rolled his eyes, then turned back to his book. "...I don't like that I have to be holed up here while you are all in danger."

"It's fine. Nate said Moreau won't kill us during the election."

"And after?"

"We'll worry about that later," Quinn grinned. "Now, if you excuse me, I'm off to go find an adorable little pit bull puppy."

 

 

 

 

 

"You kept him." Eliot stared at the small brindle puppy happily bouncing about the hotel room.

"His name's Thatcher." Quinn didn't pause from putting the nicotine cream on Ribera's watch. Parker watched the dog before going to play with him, playing tug-of-war with one of Hardison's shirts (that Quinn did not _steal_ from the hacker's room, it just somehow ended up on the floor over in his room).

"Quinn, what are you going to do with a puppy?" Eliot shot him looks of disbelief.

"Obviously make Parker a very happy thief," Quinn replied, finishing up. "Here, Parker, all done."

"Okay," Parker smiled at the puppy. She stood and carefully took the watch, disappearing from the room moments later.

"Quinn," Eliot sighed, but then stopped as Thatcher came bounding over to the older hitter. Quinn watched silently as the puppy stared at Eliot, until the man gave in and pet him behind the ears. Quinn had a hard time hiding his grin. Instead, he moved to turn on the television so they could watch the debate.

Hours later, Quinn had to compliment, "Sophie taught this guy well." Vittori did seem to exude some confidence, while Ribera was slowly getting worse.

"I wonder if it's good enough, though." Eliot frowned.

"You know, you're very negative about all this," Quinn side-glanced Eliot, who was sitting to his right. Thatcher was curled up on the floor, exhausted. "You still don't think we can take down Moreau."

"I'm just cautious." Eliot turned to look at Quinn. "It's Moreau we're talking about here."

"True," Quinn nodded, "But look at the TV." At that moment, Vittori was getting applauded while Ribera looked on in distraught. "I think we still have a fighting chance."

 

 

 

 

 

"Here we go," Nate murmured over the coms, once the 'upset victory' rumor was playing all over the news. Quinn peeked around the corner, spotting the elevator to the Tombs surrounded by guards.

"Copy that," He said, then turned to Eliot, who was standing next to him. They headed off, finding (generously borrowing) the outfits they needed as Ribera ordered Flores and his men to be finished. They led off the other two actual guards, running for the elevator and taking up the back.

" _Quinn, they've got Vittori._ " Sophie said.

"I'm out of position." Quinn mumbled back.

" _Fine, I'll do it myself._ "

They waited as the elevator descended until it reached the two in front of them stepped out, catching the released Flores, his men, and Parker's attention. Both he and Eliot raised their batons, knocking the two in front of them unconscious.

At Flores' confusion, they raised the helmets' masks from their faces. Flores grinned widely, walking over and shaking Eliot's hand. They made their way over to the elevator, and making it back up was easy. Quinn and Eliot dispatched the men up there.

"Eliot and I will go do the other thing," Quinn told Parker and she nodded. "Get Flores to where he needs to be." Eliot followed Quinn when he made his way to the main entrance, and they waited for Sophie to finish her speech.

"Viva Ribera!" They both shouted, shooting the blanks, but letting her handle the rest. They turned and ran off.

 

 

 

 

 

 

"I can't believe it worked." Eliot watched the television as Flores spoke about the new administration and his role in it.

"I told you it would all work out." Quinn took a long sip of the drink in his hand. "Moreau's in the Tombs and he won't be leaving San Lorenzo. You're a free man now, Eliot Spencer."

"I suppose I am," The older hitter smiled slightly. "Thank you, Quinn."

"What're friends for, right?" Quinn smiled, passing along a drink. He watched Thatcher chase his own tail.

"So I suppose this is a drink as friends then?" Eliot raised an eyebrow. Quinn just shot him a smile. Eliot rolled his eyes, nudging the puppy with the toe of his boot. Thatcher turned around and nipped it. "What are you going to do with him?"

"I haven't decided yet." Quinn admitted, reaching down to pet the dog. "I'll figure it out."

Eliot shook his head and downed his drink.

(Several bottles, some loss of clothing, minor flirtations and one very heated activity later, Quinn and Eliot ended up in the bed, satisfied.)

"Nate's gonna want us to scatter for a while..." Quinn muttered tiredly into the pillow. He felt Eliot shift to look at him better. "You should come with me."

At first there was silence, letting Quinn think Eliot was ignoring the question, but right after he began to think so, Eliot replied, "Okay."

"Awesome," Quinn grinned, "You, me, and Thatcher."

"Shut up and go to sleep."

 

 

 

 

 

Nate told them to break for two weeks. Quinn and Eliot (and Thatcher, can't forget the little guy) retreated to Berlin. They mostly hung around the small apartment Quinn rented, save for going out so the dog could do his business. Eliot read and Quinn watched movies. Occasionally, Quinn cooked instead of Eliot. The break lasted a week and two days before Quinn got a call.

"Yeah?" Quinn answered groggily at three in the morning. Eliot rolled over, obviously awakened by the phone. Quinn shot him an apologetic glance.

" _Quinn, we've got a job._ " Nate replied in lieu of an actual greeting.

"Nate, it hasn't even been two weeks. Do you even know what time it is?"

" _How soon can you get to Alaska?_ " Nate ignored his question. Quinn groaned inwardly.

"A day."

" _Good. See you then._ " Nate hung up.

"Job?" Eliot asked the obvious. Quinn didn't let it annoy him; they were both still half-asleep.

"Some days I want to hit Nate with something sharp and pointy."

"Don't be dramatic."

"Shut up," Quinn snorted. "I have to go to Alaska. Back on the job again. What're you gonna do?"

Eliot paused, "I'm going to drop off the radar for a while. People are going to realize I'm not dead soon, and they'll come look for me." Quinn frowned, but understood the logic.

"Take Thatcher with you."

"I'm not taking the dog."

"Take him...I refuse to bring him to Alaska."

"Fine," Eliot huffed. Quinn snorted, turned to roll into Eliot, and promptly fell back asleep.

 

 

 

 

 

Quinn didn't like the fact that someone had bugged Nate's apartment. They had to figure out who bugged them and what for. But in the meantime, they had jobs to do. There had been a stupid murder mystery party (he didn't honestly think Nate had killed the guy...but it was a close thing), the time when the girl had been kidnapped at a carnival (it felt like his head would _never_ stop hurting), the terrifying moments when Hardison had been buried alive, oh, and the job with Sterling and his daughter. That one was not okay- Quinn was going to kill Sterling for drugging him.

Hardison eventually found out who the person that had bugged them was - Jack Latimer. There had been time to deal with him, but then...

Then Nate's dad was killed. And it became personal, for all of them.

But the problem was that Latimer was on the look out for them. They couldn't even do a recon without getting caught by the facial recognition.

"We find someone who's not a friend, someone not in the game, someone we do not trust," Nate stated. "That's what we do."

So Quinn tracked down Eliot. Eliot hadn't been in the game long enough for Dubenich to know about him, and Dubenich wouldn't know about Moreau's downfall. He found him in Kiev, handcuffed while the guys holding him talked.

"What happened to laying low?" Quinn asked.

"Quinn," Eliot had a hint of a smile, "Here to break my ribs?"

"Hey," Quinn glanced at the others in the room, "No need for that. I have a job I need you for."

"What'd you have in mind?"

"One week." He stepped closer, only to have the guns pointed at him. He punched them down. "Six figures."

"I'll even get paid," Eliot whistled, taking out the two closest to him.

"And a favor."

"Alright," Eliot nodded slightly, "Deal."

"Awesome," Quinn punched out the guy to his left when Eliot hit the other. "Just need the keys to those pesky handcuffs."

"Who has them?" Eliot looked at the only one left. "Do you have them? Do you?" The last one remaining fell easily, and Quinn unlocked the restraints on his fellow hitter.

"So where's Thatcher?"

"I passed him along to my sister," Eliot answered, not bothered by the random question. "C'mon Huckleberry. We got a plane to catch, right?"

Quinn grinned, "Yes we do."

 

 

 

 

 

"Can I hit him?" Eliot frowned deeply. Quinn glanced at him, then at Chaos and Hardison.

"Which one?" Chaos was looking at them with a smug smile while Hardison just looked annoyed.

"Either one."

Quinn looked to Sophie, "It's not just me."

 

 

 

 

 

"You better be ready, Eliot," Quinn turned, throwing the guard behind him.

" _I bet you were born ready, right? C'mon, I know you wanna say it. 'I was born ready.'_ " Chaos' voice was so grating. Quinn was going to dump his body in the river when this was over.

" _I don't understand how Quinn does this_ ," Eliot mumbled to himself.

"A lot of patience," Quinn told him anyway. They had to wait until Chaos opened the pipeline, so Quinn busted heads until the guy was done. He ducked under a hit, threw the guard into the one behind him. He watched as Hardison ran once everything was done, and Quinn ran after him.

He fought their way out, but they made it to the van and drove off.

 

 

 

 

 

It was later, after Parker and Archie stole the emperor's sword, that Quinn found Nate trying to shoot the stacked glasses.

"You know a lot of things, Nate, but you don't know this will change you." He found himself saying, crossing his arms. Nate didn't even look back.

"You handled it."

"You don't know who I was before all this started." Quinn frowned. "That guy- kid- saw the best in people and had hopes he could change the world...clean hands." That got Nate to turn around. "I haven't seen that kid in over ten years, Nate. And, believe me, I get up every morning looking for him. People like Eliot and me, we changed. Eliot told me he once had God in his heart and a flag on his shoulder, and he hasn't seen that kid in over a decade either. So trust me when I tell you, you pull that trigger and two men die - the guy you kill, and the guy you used to be."

He turned and left, and frowned further when he heard the gun shots. He saw Eliot waiting around the corner.

"Can't dissuade him?" The older hitter sighed.

"I don't think much of anything can stop him at this point," Quinn looked back at the corner, where Nate was stewing in his anger and need for revenge, and he exhaled loudly. "It's mostly up to him now."

"C'mon, we have to go meet Sophie at the airport." Eliot jerked his head to the side.

One last glance to where Nate was. Quinn sighed and followed the other towards the exit.

 

 

 

 

 

"Who the hell are you?"

"I'm not Quinn, for one." Eliot smiled and Quinn took great satisfaction in tackling Dubenich to the ground. He stood, and elbowed the man in the face that Eliot threw his way. Both men were down, and Eliot exchanged a quick look with him.

Eliot tossed him the gun. He loaded the chamber, aiming it down at Dubenich.

"What are you doing? _What are you doing?_ " Sophie asked in a worried tone. Quinn stared at Dubenich. He couldn't let Nate go through the consequences of killing someone.

"I'm thinking about saving my friend some trouble..." He told her in a low tone. His hand shook, and he realized:

He couldn't do it either.

It had been so long since he last killed that he couldn't actually do it again. Not with people to protect. Not even to protect Nate's clean hands. He lowered the weapon, then unloaded the chamber. Sophie shook her head and walked away angrily, and Quinn followed, throwing away the magazine.

"Can't do it, huh?" Eliot said, taking the gun from his hands.

"These people ruined me," Quinn admitted and Eliot huffed a laugh.

"They seem to have that effect on you, Huckleberry."

"They do." Quinn smirked, "I love that movie."

"Who doesn't?"

 

 

 

 

 

Quinn grinned as Hardison transferred all the funds into their accounts. He turned to Eliot.

"The money's being wired to your account now. Thanks, Eliot." Quinn shook his hand.

"Anytime, Quinn," Eliot grinned. "So that favor."

"Oh, you mean the one where I don't break your ribs the next time we fight."

"No, I mean the one where we go get dinner."

"I like this favor better," Quinn returned Eliot's grin.

 

 

 

 

 

Quinn had been relieved that Nate ended up not shooting Latimer or Dubenich, despite all the signs that he would have. Though, he wondered if that fall had killed them. It was very likely, but you never know.

They split up for a while, to stay under the radar. Quinn of course, fulfilled his favor with Eliot and then some ("Want to hang out with some old friends of mine?" Eliot asked. "What are we doing?" "Taking down a rocket." "Sweet.") before he got the call from Hardison to head to Portland. It was supposed to be a stopover to Nate's apartment back in Boston, but as it turned out, the apartment and all their identities were burned. Which was great and all, because now Hardison had to make new ones. And the hacker already found them a job. Which was irritating to get done, with that biggest plane and Hardison being an idiot about owning a brewpub.

Apparently, being in Portland was permanent.

Quinn had been sharpening knives when an older man with a beaten face came in.

"Are you...Quinn?" The man asked of him.

"Depends who's asking," Quinn smiled.

"My name is Toby."

"Toby?" Quinn blinked, then remembered. "Toby as in the Toby who taught Eliot how to cook."

Toby smiled, "Eliot said to come to you and your friends when I called him."

"Let me go get Nate."

 

 

 

 

 

Quinn had convinced Nate to take the job, and Quinn got to act as a cooking instructor. And he beat up people in a kitchen, which was pretty entertaining. But, after that job, and a few jobs after that, Quinn had began to question what Nate was up to. It had almost seemed like he was testing them all. But for what, Quinn had no idea.

Then came the job where they faked Parker, Hardison, and his deaths to get The Black Book. The entire con was risky. Almost way too risky that Quinn almost objected to it more than once. But as luck would have it, they made it through. Then came the news that had Quinn understanding why Nate had been testing them with quizzing minor trivial things, sending them to Washington to do their part (though he believed the terrorist threat was coincidental, because if Nate planned that, that was just plain scary), all of that.

Nate was retiring, and Sophie was going with them. They were engaged. The three of them saw the two off with a smile.

But, they were two down. Hardison wanted to turn them into Leverage International. Work all over the world. And, Quinn. Quinn had to admit it was a great idea. However, they were short people. They would have to recruit others to join in on this before working with other crews.

"You should call Eliot," Parker suggested, out of the blue several weeks later.

"What?" Quinn furrowed his eyebrows, wondering where the random question came from.

"Eliot. You should call him. Get him to join our crew."

"The crew doesn't need two hitters, Parker," He told her, going back to chopping onions.

"I think you should call him," Hardison added in his unnecessary two cents. "He's pretty cool."

"Call him. Tell him to bring Thatcher!" Parker grinned. "I miss that dog. And Eliot. He cooks good food, like you. And he kicks butt."

"He does grift as well as the three of us do, too," Hardison threw in, "And he's smart, I'll give him that."

"Really want me to call him, do you?" Quinn sighed. Parker nodded enthusiastically. "Now?"

"Now." They both stated.

"Alright, alright." Quinn raised his hands up in a placating gesture. "I'll call him." He grabbed his phone, calling Eliot.

It rang three times before Eliot answered, " _Quinn._ "

Quinn smiled, "Eliot, have I got a job for you."

**Author's Note:**

> Well, this is certainly long. Allusions are fun, just by the way. I've proofread this three times, but I bet I still missed something.


End file.
